


Bones

by edenforest



Series: I feel you in my dreams [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Near Death, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6078306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenforest/pseuds/edenforest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her grip slipped and for a moment she submerged in the water. It was murky and green there. Eerie and so lonely. She didn’t want to die there. Gaby pushed her face back to the surface. There was only room for one more breath of air. So she took it and then she was back in the dark.</p><p>And then there was Illya.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bones

Gaby hit the stone wall when she was pushed in the tiny room. She could hear the door slamming behind her but she still turned around and tried to push it open. It was metal and didn’t give in a millimeter. She touched the surface with her palms but there wasn’t even lock that she could pick. Or at least she could have tried to pick with a bobby pin. Gaby leaned against the door and huffed a whole lungful of air out. So she was trapped. So she would have to wait and hope that Illya would just find her. He was somewhere in the building or on the grounds. He would find her in this… Gaby looked around and didn’t even know where she was. It wasn’t a really tiny room, more like a well. With stone walls and metal hatch three meters high. Behind that she could see the sky.

“Help!” Gaby yelled. “Illya!” At least he could now hear her. Gaby stepped around, the floor was sand. Or there wasn’t floor, just the sand and some holes in the walls by the ground. Too small to get anything else through than maybe a hand. Gaby frowned. The stone walled cylinder prison was weird. It felt medieval and sad. She yelled again and then again. And no one came.

She leaned against the stone and closed her eyes and listened. Maybe she could hear Illya. Then her shoes got wet and Gaby opened her eyes. She gasped the moment she realized what was happening. It was the tide. It came though the holes near the ground and soaked the sand and her shoes. Gaby looked and tried to find the watermarks the sea level was leaving and didn’t find any. Which meant that when the tide would rise, the whole well would fill. With her in it.

“Illya!” Gaby yelled again and the panic was settling in. The water was only to her ankles, but it was chilly and she was alone. She couldn’t do anything. The tide would eventually lift her against the metal grid, she would push her arms through and try to grab the thin air for safety, and then she would drown.

Gaby pressed herself tightly against the stone wall. It didn’t help but at least it was still, unlike the water, and that somehow helped. The cold water rose. It lifted her dress to float, before the fabric got too heavy and clung to her thighs. Gaby’s hands were shaking from cold and fear. This was it. She would drown in this well. She wondered how long it would take for somebody to find her. It made her angry to think that after years of fear and solitude, years of being prisoner in her own country and waiting, she didn’t get to have more than three months of freedom. Would anybody even miss her? Would anybody remember her?

She held on to the walls, grabbed the corners of the stones with her fingertips and tried to keep herself from submerging. She would need to make sure she had strength to fight to the end. She was maybe dying but she was still going to fight. Soon she would reach the grid and maybe, just maybe, it would be loose or something, or maybe someone would see her arms coming through. But when she reached the grid, it was only a matter of a time then the tide would rise above it. Her arms would be there for a while to see. Leaning against the metal, wrists limp, fingers still, and then even those would disappear. If that happened, Illya would never find her. She would be there alone, floating in this stone prison.

Gaby reached the grid. She shook it as hard as she could. It rattled, but she couldn’t open it.

“Geöffnet!” she yelled and shook it until her arms were aching.

There were thirty centimeters of air between the water and the grid. That’s how long she had. A foot of life. A foot of panic and fear.

A faint sound somewhere. So faint that she thought she had imagined it. But then she heard it again and she was sure it was her name.

“Illya!” she yelled and pushed her arm through the grid. ”I’m here! Somewhere close to the water! The tide is getting in!” Her arm was shaking against the grid and she was so cold that yelling was hard. Her voice was trembling and Gaby didn’t know if it was the cold or the panic. “Illya,” she cried and lifted her face against the grid when the water touched her chin. Her grip slipped and for a moment she submerged in the water. It was murky and green there. Eerie and so lonely. She didn’t want to die there. Gaby pushed her face back to the surface. There was only room for one more breath of air. So she took it and then she was back in the dark.

There was a silhouette against the sky. Gaby knew it was Illya but she also knew he might be too late. She had seconds. And Gaby was sorry he had to be there to see it. Illya had already seen death more than enough for a lifetime, a few lifetimes. And Gaby really didn’t want him to see her death. It wasn’t his fault, but he would still blame himself and she didn’t want that. She wanted to spare him that guilt.

Gaby closed her eyes so she wouldn’t see the green darkness. Her lungs were bursting. She knew her body would give in any second now and tried to breathe. And then her lungs would fill in with seawater.

There was blunt metallic noise. Then another. She felt the grid moving, but her hands slipped off it. And then there was a tight grip on her wrist and a sharp yank. She had to pull air into her lungs before she fully surfaced. It made her cough and gag. Illya had pulled her up so fast that they both fell in the wet sand. Illya took the hit and made sure Gaby stayed on top of him.

“Breathe,” he told her.

Gaby coughed the seawater out and panted. She gasped for air. Her lungs were aching, like they were on fire. Her whole body was trembling. It was the cold and fear and shock. And maybe even the relief. Illya took hold of her shoulders and kept her still.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He sounded efficient and serious, not worried. And that was more comforting than anything. No fuss, like she liked it.

“Cold,” was only thing Gaby managed to say. She could only shiver.

“Come on. Let’s get you warm,” he said firmly and pulled Gaby up the sand.

Her legs were shaky and weak, but he made her walk by herself so her body didn’t stop working; he dragged her along. Illya helped her to sit in the back seat of the car.

“Take off your dress,” he told her, then started the engine and turned the heaters up.

Gaby pushed her wet tights down her legs, but those were clinging to her, her hands couldn’t grip, and they didn’t move past her knees. Illya came back to her and pulled her tights off. Then he turned her like she was some a doll and opened the zipper in her dress.

“Lift your arms,” Illya said and Gaby obeyed as well as she could. Her arms wouldn’t actually bend that far up. Or she couldn’t make them bend. Illya still managed to yank the wet dress from her.

Gaby pressed her arms against her chest. She didn’t try to cover herself, she didn’t care. But her body was merely pulling her together for the warmth. Illya took off his jacket and shirt and he opened his belt and trousers and pushed those past his knees so he could get Gaby in his lap and against his bare skin. He pulled her against his chest. He leaned little forward and told her to wrap her arms around him. Illya leaned back and Gaby’s arms got caught between his back and the seat. He covered her with his jacket and under that wrapped his arms on her back and rubbed her. Gaby’s head set against Illya’s neck. Her cheek against him was cold and her lips were purple.

“It’s going to be okay,” Illya said to her. It was the only thing he said. Gaby didn’t say anything.

After half an hour Gaby’s body had calmed. She wasn’t trembling anymore. Illya didn’t rub her back any longer; he only kept his arms around her.

“Do you feel better?” Illya asked quietly, close to her ear.

Gaby nodded slowly. She still didn’t want to move. She knew that she was okay for now because the air under the jacket and Illya’s skin were warm. But when she would move, she would be cold again.

“Let’s get you to the hotel,” Illya said. “We run a hot bath for you. Yes?”

“Yes,” Gaby whispered.

Illya helped her away from his lap and wrapped the jacket around her. Gaby slid her arms in the too long sleeves and shivered. Illya pulled his trousers back up and put his shirt back on and sat behind the wheel. Gaby was cold again, but it wasn’t like before. This was shivers and chill; before it had been numbness and aching. This she could cope with.

They used a staff entrance of the hotel. Illya’s jacket covered Gaby to halfway down her thighs and she dangled the wet dress in her hand. Illya turned the water on; Gaby dropped the dress on the floor and shivered.

“Come on,” Illya said. It was comforting that he wasn’t fussing or being overly concerned, or at least he didn’t show it. It felt good to know that there was someone there who was efficient. Gaby didn’t want to fuss; she wanted somebody to get things done. And Illya did just that.

So Gaby went to him. The tub wasn’t filled yet, but she wanted to go in anyway. Gaby pushed the jacket off her and handed it to Illya.

Illya frowned. Gaby usually stood so straight. Ballet had made her body strong and East Berlin her mind strong, but now she looked fragile. Her skin was so pale and he could see her veins. And Illya hated himself for looking at her. She was cold and vulnerable and he kept watching her skin which he hadn’t ever seen that much. She was wearing only thin underwear. In any other situation he would have been happy to get a glimpse of her dressed like this, but not now, not when she was so helpless.

Gaby twisted her arms to her back, but her fingers were still stiff and she couldn’t make them work. “Illya,” she breathed out. “Could you open my bra?”

Illya swallowed and stepped behind her. He hesitated but lifted his fingers to release the little hooks. He was clumsy; it had been a while since he had unfastened anybody’s bras. And this was Gaby. That made him a little nervous all the time.

But Illya really didn’t need to worry. Gaby didn’t care how clumsy he was, she didn’t even notice. She didn’t really care if he had pulled her pants down at the same time and stared at her. She could think only of warmth and nothing else bothered her. She pushed the straps off her shoulders and dropped her bra on the floor. Illya backed away from her and the bathroom. He hoped that Gaby wouldn’t turn because he was afraid that he wasn’t going to be gentleman enough to actually look away. He closed the door when Gaby pushed her thumbs under her pants to push those down. Gaby really didn’t deserve his gaze right now. Illya felt embarrassed and ashamed.

Gaby climbed in the hot water. She merely lay there, without moving, let the water warm her and make her movable again. And it did. And with the warmth and movement came the memories and embarrassment. Huddled against Illya in the back seat. She wondered how see-through her underwear had been. And she had asked him to open her bra. She was sure that he had frowned and thought that she was completely useless. But she had to push her embarrassment away. She could be embarrassed when the job was done and she was at home. Now she needed to think about the man who had pushed her in that well and also she wanted a drink. Gaby wrapped herself in a bathrobe and left the bathroom.

Illya lifted his eyes to her when she came. “Are you feeling better?” he asked.

Gaby nodded. “Warmer at least.”

“Did you see who put you in that trap?” Illya asked. “If we see him tomorrow, will you recognize him?”

Gaby nodded again and went to the bar cabinet. She poured herself some vodka. Her hands were still trembling. But that couldn’t be the cold anymore. She didn’t ask why it was necessary to recognize one individual of an organization where everybody was going to be taken in. She knew why. Illya didn’t think of it as revenge, it was justice, and Gaby could understand that. If he wanted to feel better by beating somebody for her, at least it could be somebody who deserved it.

“Are you hungry?” Illya asked.

Gaby shook her head and drank her vodka.

“I told Cowboy we got back,” Illya said. “I said that there was some problem, but I didn’t say how serious.”

“Thanks,” Gaby said. She didn’t need everybody to find out. At least for now. It would come up eventually from the reports and she could then say that she was fine and it wasn’t a big deal. By then she maybe would feel like that, too. Gaby poured herself another vodka. She felt like she needed another. Actually she felt like she needed seven more.

Illya stood up and went to Gaby. He took the bottle from her, put it back to the cabinet and closed the door.

“I wasn’t finished with that,” Gaby pointed out.

“We have to work tomorrow,” Illya said.

“Give me a break,” Gaby huffed. “I’m an adult. If I want a drink, I can have one.”

“You are not fit to wrestle now,” Illya said. “Go to bed. You feel better after you rest.”

Gaby huffed and was suddenly angry. She didn’t need Illya to patronize her. And she was annoyed that he mentioned something that had happened three months ago and what neither one of them had mentioned since. But apparently he felt like this was the time to remember that.

But the sad truth was that she wasn’t fit to wrestle or fight. Not with her muscles, not with her words. So she only glared at Illya and disappeared into the bedroom. Gaby slammed the door behind her. If Illya treated her like a child, she would act like one. She changed into her pajamas and crawled under the blankets. She curled up on her side of the bed. Lay there and stared at the wall. She was exhausted but still she couldn’t sleep. Her eyes were hurting and she wanted to forget all the fear and anxiety.

Illya came an hour later. She could hear him changing into his pajama pants and t-shirt. The other side of the bed sank when he lay down. It wasn’t first time they were sharing a bed and it wouldn’t be the last. But this was the first time Gaby looked at Illya when he came and he noticed that, and they both were there awake at the same time. Usually they always went and got out of the bed at different times. Gaby turned on her back and stared the ceiling.

Over the next hour Gaby turned around at least thirty times. Every time Illya glanced at her quickly.

“Do you want talk about it?” Illya finally asked quietly. He wasn’t one to talk, but maybe she wanted. And he wanted to help her if he could.

“No,” Gaby said and frowned. She stared at the ceiling because that was somehow relaxing. And even if she didn’t want to talk, she did: “What happens after I die?” Gaby asked.

Illya turned his face toward her. ”You mean afterlife?” he asked, unsure what she was asking.

“No,” Gaby said. “I mean what happens to my body? Where do they bury me? And who? If I had drowned would you just have left me there?“ Gaby could see herself floating in the green darkness, her hair around her head like a halo, fishes swimming near her pale skin.

“No,” Illya answered the question that was aimed straight at him. “No, I wouldn’t have left you.”

“I have nobody to take care of me after I die. And I know it doesn’t matter because I’m dead then, but still it bothers me. Who will decide where I am buried?” Gaby asked. ”Will anybody even miss me?”

”I would miss you,” Illya said softly.

“You would?” Gaby asked.

“Of course,” Illya said like it was a fact. Of course he would. And when Gaby didn’t say anything after that, he continued: “I would like to be buried in our family grave in Moscow.”

Gaby turned her face towards Illya.

“Where would you like to be buried?” he asked

Gaby took a deep breath. “I would like to think that I could go home, but I don’t really have a home right now.”

“London?” Illya asked.

“I have a small apartment there and some furniture. It’s only been three months and I feel like I haven’t really even spent any real time there. It’s not my home,” Gaby said. “Not yet, anyway.”

“What about East Germany?” Illya asked even when he knew her answer.

“No,” Gaby said. “I’m not going back. Not even dead.”

Illya nodded.

Gaby was silent for a while. Then she turned on her side toward Illya. “There’s a village near Bremen, Lilienthal. My mother’s family is from there. My grandmother is buried there, in this small cemetery in the churchyard. I don’t remember her so well, she died when I was five, but the few memories I have are good,” Gaby told quietly. “So maybe I could be buried there. Next to her.”

“Lilienthal,” Illya repeated.

“Greta von Trüsch,” Gaby said.

“Okay,” Illya said softly. “If something happens to you, I will make sure you are buried there.”

Gaby sniffed and her breath trembled.

“I am sorry,” Illya said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No,” Gaby gasped for air and breathed out through her mouth. “It’s not that. Somehow it’s really comforting to know that somebody will take care of me after I’m gone,” she said and her voice was still trembling. “It’s a relief to know that I am not just left somewhere floating in the dark or in some dimly lit basement, lying in my own blood. It helps to know that even if there’s nothing left of me than bones that somebody is going to make sure I’m okay.” Her voice cracked.

Illya swallowed. He didn’t know what to do. He knew what he wanted to do, but he didn’t know could he do it.

“So thank you,” Gaby said.

And her voice was so sad and thin. So Illya lifted his hand and stroked her cheek gently. Then Gaby moved so quickly to him that Illya didn’t really even realize what was happening before Gaby was already pressing her head against his shoulder and curled up at his side. She was like scared animal.

“Can I be here?” she asked. “For a while. There have been some really lonely years and sometimes it’s nice to be close to somebody.”

Illya pulled his arm from under Gaby and she leaned away, because she thought that Illya didn’t want her there. But then he pulled her a little clumsily closer and wrapped his arm protectively around her. He felt the same loneliness as Gaby. And she was right; it was nice to be close to somebody. Gaby felt soft. It was nice to feel her little movements and her warmth she had gained back. Her hand was pressed against his chest. She was squeezing it into a tight fist and her breathing was uneven and little broken.

Illya turned his head and his chin touched her forehead. And when Gaby didn’t move her face, Illya didn’t move his face and their faces stayed together. Slowly she calmed down. Her breathing settled and her body relaxed. Neither one knew was it Illya’s promise to take care of her bones that calmed her down or was it merely him holding her. But something worked. And when she calmed, he calmed.

When Illya woke the next morning before Gaby, she was still curled against him, her hand on his chest. But her hand was now relaxed and her palm rested softly against him.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks to MollokoPlus


End file.
